When I was in the third grade, I spent a lot of time camping at a campground in Redhouse and a lot of time by myself. One Summer day, I was playing in a creek when I spotted a frog. I had a very active imagination as a child, so I decided to play with the frog. The first game that came to mind was the game of catch. Excitedly, I scoured the surrounding area for something to toss to my new friend. After a few minutes of searching, I found a hand sized rock. With the rock in my hand, I exclaimed, “Get ready, here it comes!” Then, I underhand threw the rock to the frog. I eagerly waited for a few minutes for the frog to throw the rock back to me, but the rock was motionless. With much haste, I slid down the creek banks and picked up the rock. There in front of me was the smashed remains of my amphibious friend. For the first time in my life, I was faced with death. Tears began to roll down my face because I realized it was my fault that he was dead. I was now alone again and I had nobody in which to discuss this event. That frog was the first and last thing I ever killed
Ever since that day, I've had an eye on the man in the black robe that's waiting patiently in the back row. I know it's not normal for someone my age to think about death, but it helps me enjoy my life. At any given moment I could combust, stop breathing, or get smashed by a rock, so every moment that isn't spent in death's cold arms is an absolute blessing. I regret that it took the life of another living being to teach me this lesson, but I will not let that frog's death be in vain. I have to make up for the life I wasted, and if my flame for life starts to die, I visualize lifting up that rock and my soul is instantly stoked. If death is going to catch me, he is going to dance around the trail of fire I leave behind because I don't only believe in death, I believe in life.